


Lose Your Soul

by MysteryHack



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Billford - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteryHack/pseuds/MysteryHack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The demonic plague of dimension IV-67 had been ravaging Earth for over six months now. Stanford Filbrick Pines and his research assistant, at least in this version of reality, have been on the road for a little over a week. After their laboratory was overrun by the demonly-converted the pair decided it was best to hit the road at try to at least find other human survivors fighting the good fight. Unfortunately for them, they seemed to be the only ones with souls left on the planet. </p>
<p>My first time posting on AO3, it's a WIP that I think is going to turn out pretty well. It's Billford with Human!Bill and interdimensional!Stanford Pines. From this Prompt: • Character A is a demonhunter who’s best friend, Character B, was recently turned into a demon. Character B, who doesn’t remember anything of their human life, has a strange obsession with Character A and vows to turn them into a demon too. </p>
<p>I hope you enjoy! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The demonic plague of dimension IV-67 had been ravaging Earth for over six months now. Stanford Filbrick Pines and his research assistant, at least in this version of reality, have been on the road for a little over a week. After their laboratory was overrun by the demonly-converted the pair decided it was best to hit the road at try to at least find other human survivors fighting the good fight. Unfortunately for them, they seemed to be the only ones with souls left on the planet.

On their fifth night traveling through a particularly quiet sector of the quarantine zone, they were attacked by an undetected horde of demons. Bill, who was prone to pointless acts of heroism had thrown himself in front of the demon attempting to rip into Ford with his teeth, effectively getting himself infected. That is how Stanford Filbrick Pines of dimension C-137 ended up alone, in what appears to be a giant pipe for sewage hiding from his best….ex bestfriend.

“Come out Sixer, you can't hide from me. That big brain is giving off so many waves. You can't hole up for long.” The tinny voice sang, taunting the scientist.

Ford hugged his knees closer to his body trying to disappear into himself. Bill might not have remembered anything about his human life, but he was surprisingly similar to his former self, even adopting nicknames he had commonly used to refer to Ford. It made it even harder for Stanford to digest the fact that he, at some point in the near future, had to put a stop to this game of cat and mouse.

Footsteps at the opening to the pipe drew his attention and Ford's heart all but jumped into his throat. Desperately he held his arm over his face tighter, trying to muffle the spasms of the panicked breath trying to escape in noisy puffs. The lean figure looms in the entrance before outwardly shrugging and throwing their hands up in defeat, laughing manically as it retreated.

He stayed huddled in on himself for another ten minutes before deciding it was safe to unfold and continue on. “Jesus that was close,” he whispered to himself wiping his sweaty hands on his black cargo pants. Bill Cipher was getting closer and closer every day to finding him. The drive Bill possessed to infect Stanford was unsettling to say the least. It seemed to consume his every thought, at this point it was safe to say he was obsessed with infecting his former partner.

Ford hitched his large laser cannon to his back and picked up the duffel bag that held all of his worldly possessions, opting to move camp now rather than to wait for the sun to rise. Darkness was his only friend now, covering him and allowing him the freedom he so desperately craved. His eyes shifted frantically back and forth as he ran across the deserted roadway and into the forest lining the side opposite his previous hiding place. The trees were dense and the overgrown leaves pulled him into their protection, he bent for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

There was nothing but silence surrounding him, no growls or screams, or that laughter he was beginning to become so accustomed to. Ford sighed with relief as he went about trying to hunt down a suitable place to crash for the day. His gaze settled on a giant willow tree complete with a large enough hole carved out of the trunk for him to squeeze into. He grabbed his duffel bag and hid it in the roots of another tree about five feet from his before walking back to the old willow.

He also took the time to tie tin cans to trees ten feet out, surrounding himself in a circle of clattering metal and ropes. To complete his daily ritual he pulled out what was left of the rock salt he had squirreled away and dumped a line around his equipment and his tree. All of these precautions were necessary, one could never be too paranoid when you were being pursued by the meanest creatures in any dimension and held the fate of the universe in your six fingered hands.

Those monsters could never get their claws on what he was currently risking his life to create. The thought caused him to shudder violently as he removed his gun and placed it at the entrance to the hovel. He pressed himself against it, hugging the cold metal close to his chest, pulling it underneath his trench coat just a little more. It was not the warm, human body of his research companion, but it was comforting enough to lull him to sleep.

The dreams that morning were the same as they always were, Stanford, wandering though door after door in what appeared to be his own mind, searching for some semblance of normality. Unlike every other morning however his subconsciousness was bringing him closer and closer to a door he had never passed by: it was a feeble, last ditch effort by his brain so find some form of comfort. His heavy booted feet carried him across the dreamscape to an unfamiliar section of the hallway.

Before him stood the door he had most wanted to avoid, but somehow couldn't bring himself to pass by. On the door in blocky red crayon was a sign that read “No Girls Allowed” Under that, a more practiced cursive dubbing the territory beyond that as “Fort Stan”.

He took a long, measured breath in through his nose and held it. After all that he had been through was it even worth it to cause himself even more grief with the memories that lie behind this particular door? Before he knew what he was doing, twelve fingers were grasping the knob tight, wrenching the ancient door towards him. What he saw inside caused him to finally release the breath he had forgotten he was holding.

A much younger, much sweatier version of him looked up at Stanford from under the numerous sheets and pillows that were balanced on the chairs and dresser that had made up the extra furniture in the room. To the left of that was the enormous, or at the time what had seemed like an enormous bunk bed, towering over the fort and the boy inside.

A happy chuckle filled the air as the sheet was wrenched back eagerly, “Heya Sixer! I've been waiting for you.” Stanley smiled his wide gap-toothed smile.

Ford felt his stomach turn. He set one foot into the bedroom but jumped when giggling answered Ley from the top bunk. “Hold on you big jerk, I'm almost done with this page!” There was shuffling and a loud thud before a smaller version of Ford jumped off the bed and almost ran into the Man near the door.

Stanley grabbed for Stanford and rubbed his fist into his twin's hair. “Awh come on.” His younger self whined pushing Ley off of him. The two boys laughed and the sheet fell closed, separating the memory from the man.

Ford leaned on the wall swallowing the lump growing in his throat. Forty years. Forty years he'd been avoiding any and all thoughts of his childhood. What made tonight different? Friendly faces were becoming more and more impossible to find, his brain reasoned. Stanley, or at least the young Stanley was the only person in Ford's whole world who had never betrayed him, never hurt him...never threatened to choke him with his own viscera.

With one last glance around the room, Stanford closed the door on this memory. He couldn't tell if it had helped or hurt him more and he filed it away in the back of his mind to think more in depth about later. He continued on down the hallway of doors, stopping at a few from his college days, but never quite finding the strength to open them.

Finally, he approached the only door that was actually light, shining with a pink haze around it. He quirked an eyebrow at that. Ford had been in and out of this strange dreamscape what seemed like a million times and he had seen all kinds of strangeness in here, but never a door that glowed. Shrugging he turned the doorknob and pulled the door open.

He felt sick as soon as he saw what was inside. The lab he had here in dimension IV-67 greeted him, all shiny and chrome, just the way he remembered it. However, their lab isn't what caught his gaze most. It was his research partner, Bill Cipher. His thin frame leaned against one of the metal counter tops resting his head in his lithe fingers. His brown eyes looked up at him through thick lashes all but calling for him to step into his side of the room.

“Heya Sixer...how much longer until I can check on the samples in the oven? According to the timer they should have been out...oh let's say an hour ago.” His light voice floated towards the old man's ears and he couldn't help but take one step into the lab.

A gruffer voice answered, “What was that, Cipher?” I've almost got this laser cannon finished, and I think it's going to be highly effective in cutting through materials for our project.”

The blonde rolled his eyes and sidled up to the crouched figure sitting at a work bench to the right of him. He leaned down over the brunette and put his lips closer to to the other man's ear. “Will nothing pull you out of your work, Sixer?”

Stanford, the real Stanford that is, remembered this night perfectly. It was the last time he and Bill had ever spoken. The hairs on his arms stood on end and he found himself ghosting even closer to the pair of men.

The other Stanford stopped his work on the tool and turned around, his pupils so large and dark Ford could see them from his place across the room. “Bill, wh-what are you?”

Bill answered his partner's question by sliding deftly into the sturdy lap in front of him. He gripped Ford's chin tight in his slim fingers, studying his face for a moment before bringing it closer to his. The two men kissed for the first and last time that night. Ford stood there, feeling the blush rise across his stubbled cheeks. The scene in before him was so intimate he almost felt embarrassed for watching, but it was him.

His younger self, if he could call him that, trailed his hands up and down the blonde's sides, moaning as he bit down on tanned flesh. Bill responded by grinding his hips down, rubbing himself along Stanford's body. It was too much for the current Ford and he quickly backed out of the room and slammed the door. Too much. It was too much.

Stanford didn't dream much after that. The dreamscape slowly melted away, leaving Stanford to sleep well for the first time in what seemed like years. His mind was nothing but darkness and what sounded like a familiar voice whispering somewhere far off, “Sixer. I'll find you, Sixer.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ford was torn from his somewhat peaceful sleep by a loud ripping sound off in the forest. His heart was thumping in his chest as he ripped his sleeve up to check the time. It was two o'clock in the afternoon and a horrible time to move his position. The sun taunted him through the thick canopy, shining brightly overhead. 

“Damn it.” He swore out loud, listening to the footsteps that crunched and echoed on the dried fallen leaves.

He drew in a shaky breath and grabbed for the plasma rifle at his side, quietly he charged the photonic converter and deactivated the safety. He pulled himself slowly into a sitting position against the tree, and waited. Growls and screeches were no more than two hundred feet in front of him he surmised. He glanced over to where his bag was hidden, none of the precautionary measures looked to be disturbed, so that was a plus.

Listening to the pattern of footsteps, Ford was able to determine that there was only one demon approaching. Thankful, and a little more than confident about his chances, the scientist stood. With one last nervous swallow, Ford allowed his fear to dissipate and instead channeled his adrenaline into a deadly focus. He stalked forward, kicking at the ground and clanging at the line of cans he strung up during the night. A particularly savage howl confirmed to Ford that he had drawn the attention of his unwelcome guest. Good.

He planted his feet more firmly and cocked his weapon. The infected came crashing through a sapling, surprising the man with its size. Stanford and Bill had been studying the demons since the first cases of the outbreak, which just turned humans into zombie-like apparitions of what they once were. Now however, it appeared that the demonic strain was evolving, creating monsters that no longer looked human at all. 

The Nightmare beast, all scales and shadows, plunged ahead, claws shining obsidian in the sunlight. Ford determined he had about five seconds to react before he was ripped to shreds. He snapped himself back to the present, deciding it would be far better to study the creature after it was dead rather than alive, Ford raised his rifle and fired. 

A bright pink flash filled his eyes and one of the monster's arms disintegrated into ash. The thing looked wildly from its lost appendage to the cause of such horrors. Hesitation flashed in its once human eyes. It stopped dead in its tracks, head titled to the side as if it were trying to gauge a sound somewhere off in the distance, however Ford could hear no such thing. Perhaps the virus caused improved hearing, or telepathy maybe. No matter how much danger he may be in, Stanford Pines couldn't stop the curiosity that had always been one of his most defining traits.

The thing stayed, listening to a voice Ford couldn't hear. Quickly, the human grabbed a large hunting knife out of one of his coat's inner pockets. Dropping the plasma weapon, Ford swung from a low bearing branch and catapulted his body onto the neck of the demon. It finally broke from whatever trance it was in and waved its head frantically to the side teeth gnashing at Ford, narrowly missing his leg.

Finding enough leverage to pull his body to the back of the beast's head, Stanford brought his knife down where he knew the spinal cord met the brain stem. With one last choke, the demon crashed forward, sending Ford flying back down into the mulch where he had left his gun. Excited at the prospect of getting a sample to study before heading off to another safe zone, Ford grabbed his journal. It was nothing like the one he had had on Earth in his original dimension, but it would have to suffice. Instead of yellowed thick pages that smelled of old books and black ink that infuriatingly ended up all over whatever he was wearing, this new journal was electronic. He quickly flipped through holograms that rose out of the small disk to a blank cell and furiously began recording his observations out loud. 

“Ten feet in height, perhaps longer. Black in coloring. Claws. Three on each hand. Three feet in length. Formerly human if the internal anatomy is anything to go by. Perhaps sent by him as a scout. It appeared to be giving some sort of telepathic message. Mostly speculation however. Will download tissue sample for further investigation when I find a place to work again. From my own judgments, I'd say this is strain 4 of the demonic infection. Thankfully, those I worked with previously were infected with the 3rd strain. All I can manage for now.”

After finishing his observations, Ford took his knife and scraped a piece of the black scales off of the demon, placing it on the disk. It disappeared in the blue light, pixelating and uploading into his journal. “Right Ford. Time to move on.” He chided to himself.

Carefully he placed his journal into an inner pocket in his overcoat and bent to retrieve his weapon from where it had landed in the fray. “Heya Sixer,” the easy tone caused Ford's heart to fly into his throat. Quickly he snapped himself back up, eyes scanning the forest around him.

“Don't bother looking I.Q.” Bill sighed.

“Where-where are you? Show yourself.” Ford demanded. 

“I'm right here.” His ex partner urged, a sharp pain throbbing in Ford's temple to emphasize his point. 

“Cipher, my mind? How!?” Ford gripped the side of his head and winced.

“Don't worry about that right now Brainiac. Let's just say our theory about demonic telepathy was not...unfounded. Anyways, I'm here just to let you know my little...entourage should be showing up in a few minutes. You're probably going to need a head start.” Bill's strangely toned voice echoed in his head. 

“Why-why are you helping me?” Ford winced again as the pressure seemed to build.

“Because I think I like ya Sixer. You're gonna make a great addition to my little party. But where's the fun in getting what you want so easily, huh?” Bill's tone implied that this was something Ford should have already figured out ages ago. 

“Is that so?” Ford managed to reply.

“Sure is! See ya inna few!” Bill said in farewell.

Instantly, Ford's mind began to untwist, the pain and pressure that had locked his brain subsided. Thankfully, he was able to think clearly once again. Without wasting anymore time, Ford grabbed his rifle and sprinted to his bag. He didn't look back once as he made a beeline for a small river he knew to be on the other side of this particular grove of trees. The water would erase his scent immediately giving him the opportunity to become a ghost once again.  
Stanford let out a sigh of relief as he listened to the birds chirping around him. If there were animals anywhere in the vicinity surrounding him, there was a high chance that there were no demons. He adjusted the pack slung around his back, hoping to avoid his sore lumbar muscles. His skirmish earlier had done his body no favors, and he knew soon enough he was going to have to stop running and settle somewhere soon.

Thankfully, the night was fast approaching and the sun began to sink low on the horizon. He lifted his black cowl to better cover his chocolate locks, the stripe of white that had formed there would have been easy to spot in the dim light. The wind picked up and swirled, as it usually did around dusk. He snapped his goggles onto his face to protect against the debris blowing around his face. 

A small building loomed ahead in the orange light and Ford's relief was almost palpable. Unholstering his plasma rifle again he prepared to sweep the shack. His heavy boot crashed through the small cellar door, sending splinters of wood raining down into the basement below. The scientist waited and listened for any signs of the demonic. When nothing but silence greeted him, Ford ventured into the cabin's basement, hoping to find a semi permanent home where he could rest and regain strength...and hopefully set up a lab for a few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry for not updating sooner! I got super busy! Anyways thank you so much for the Kudos and support I've received! I'm so so grateful. Hopefully, I can do Bill and Ford and everyone else from Gravity Falls justice. I just really love Stanford Pines, and I want everyone to love him as much as I do.


	3. Chapter 3

The scenery that greeted him was much like any other these days, bleak and black. Overall it was underwhelming to the man. His eyes did a quick sweep across the small dirt floored room, lingering over the darkened corners. When he was sure that there were no monsters ready to jump out at him he activated a small red light built into his wrist cuff. The cellar became illuminated and Ford squinted slightly as his eyes adjusted. Furniture was stacked here and there and the odd tool was scattered about. 

It was rudimentary to say the least, but it should be acceptable enough to create something close to a workshop. A door upstairs creaked and slammed, dragging Ford's attention back to the task at hand. There was still an upstairs to this home that needed to be swept for unwelcome occupants. He checked the charge of the photonic converter on his rifle. The battery was at its half-life, which meant it would take longer to cool between each round fired off. He had to be very careful with just how many shots he let off until he had the time to tinker with the gun. 

He shrugged his equipment off of his back and placed it under a pile of furniture, making sure that it looked as though it hadn't been disturbed. He even went so far as to take a handful of dust off of a ceiling beam and sprinkle it carefully over the track mark left from his disturbance. When he was satisfied, Ford gripped his weapon tight and made his way over to the worn stairs. 

Creeeaakk. The aged wood bent under his solid weight. 

So much for the element of surprise. Ford thought bitterly. 

When he reached the upper level of the cabin Ford braced himself. When nothing crawled out of the shadows towards him he allowed himself to relax a fraction, rolling his tense shoulders back. Reconnaissance of the shack proved to be rather calm, with nothing more than a large cat shattering the quiet around him. When he was sure the yellowish animal was not going to cause him any problems, Ford went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards. There were cans stacked from the bottom to top shelf in two of the three. Whoever it was, they were more than prepared for this apocalypse. 

Six fingers greedily reached for three cans, balancing them haphazardly in their large grasp. Ford realized as he made quick work of the lid on a can of peaches that it had been nearly 36 hours since he had last eaten anything more than a saltine. His appetite had waned considerably since the...mutilation of Bill Cipher. 

He pulled himself up onto the counter top behind him and dug into the can. Once again, Ford's thoughts drifted to his partner. It was an involuntary, but not unwelcome habit he had developed over the last week or so. He closed his eyes and imagined that shock of blonde hair appearing out of the darkness, that thin frame leaning against the doorway. 

“You know Sixer, the demons aren't in the immediate area, you can relax you know.” He'd say.

“Bill, now is hardly the time.” Ford answered the apparition out loud.

“No one will hear.” Even in the dim red light, Ford could see that trademark Cipher smirk.

The genius's face felt hot in the cool air, “I have other things to expend my energy on, Bill.”

The blonde's face dropped slightly, but quickly the ghost regained his Cheshire-like smile. “You and I both know we've got nothing better to do.” Ford set the can down as the other man pinned him to the counter. “How long has it been, Sixer? I bet you haven't so much as touched yourself since that night.”

Ford squirmed under Bill's hot gaze. “I- I do have better things to do. I don't have the time to… I need to...” Words were becoming increasingly difficult to summon in protest.

Bill...or not Bill, it was hard to believe he wasn't right there in front of the scientist, was inches from Ford's mouth. A thin hand teasingly slid up his cargo pants, tracing patterns in the black fabric. “We both know that's a lie. You can't save me Stanford. You never could.” Bill's tone instantly became icy. 

Sorrow shot through Ford painfully, smothering out any lust that had been flowing in his blood. He shoved Bill off of him, gritting his teeth to keep back his guilt. “I can and I will.” 

That laughter, that tinny horrible laughter echoed in Ford's ears as he watched his hallucination fade back into nothingness. “You can't even save yourself, I.Q.” 

Ford buried his head in his hands and allowed his breathing to regulate itself once again. There was no point in getting emotional over something. He had to work towards a cure, that's where all of his focus had to be. Not on naked tan flesh pressed up against his own. He palmed at his growing erection and huffed. The Bill Cipher in his dimension had been much less pleasing physically. Damn Bill Cipher of IV-67.

In order to combat any residual feelings from his ghostly encounter, Ford resolved to repeat his route through the upstairs. Mentally cataloging the layout of the cabin. It was eerily familiar, he realized. The parlor, the kitchen, the stairs and bedrooms. He would have to investigate more in the light, but he was sure this cabin had nearly the same layout as the one he had left behind almost thirty years ago. A violent anger threatened to rise and he shook his head. That was a lifetime ago.

In the farthest bedroom, Ford found the cat lazing on the shredded mattress. It's curious, bright yellow eyes watched him intently.   
“I'm sure you won't mind if I gather some things from here.” Ford addressed it. 

The cat blinked slowly at him, and while it may have been a strange thing to say, Ford was more than appreciative of the fact that it did not open its mouth to answer him.

As expected, Ford found nothing much of value other than a heavy black turtleneck sweater. It would be advantageous, more so than his thin pull over, once the temperature dropped in a month or so. He draped it over his shoulder and continued fumbling to jar a drawer open. After about ten good tugs, the thing came loose and spilled its contents all over the floor. A small screwdriver, three lithium batteries, and an old walkie talkie fell out. He was sure he could find a use for these items at some point. He stuffed them into one of the numerous pockets on his pants and continued with his search. 

When he was certain there was nothing more to gather from this room, Ford turned to the cat still on the bed. It's eyes were closed, but he was sure it was still watching him. He walked over to it, and patted its head gently. It had been far too long since he had physical contact with anything other than a demon or a ghost. It purred softly, glowing yellow eyes became happy slits. 

Any fear or guilt that had been swirling around in Ford's mind was instantly numbed. He made room for himself on the bed, careful not to jostle the cat too much. He stroked its back and relaxed further into the musty pillows still left on the bed. The two sat in a quiet understanding and Ford took the opportunity to doze off.

It was the first time in a very long time that he could pretend things were completely normal, that he had never fallen through a gate into multiverse hell. For the first time in decades, Stanford Pines looked up at a wooden beams and allowed himself to forget all of the atrocities he had seen and been a part of since his journeys into various dimensions.


End file.
